Quicken
by Mazzie May
Summary: "I would expect that indulgence to be akin to playing with fire." Ashe is right, of course. Though, when the paper went to flame, Balthier didn't expect to be the one burning. Set the night before the Cataracts; in which a fast heartbeat can be one's undoing.


**Summary: "I would expect that indulgence to be akin to playing with fire." Ashe is right, of course. Though, when the paper went to flame, Balthier didn't expect to be the one burning.**

 **Shout out to the most excellent TheDonutMistress for the title. She is the most bodacious of babes.**

* * *

 **Quicken**

 _verb_

 _ **1**. _

_make or become faster._  
 _"her heartbeat began to quicken"_

 _ **2**. _

_spring to life; become animated._  
 _"his interest quickened"_

Balfonheim is blessed with a cool sea breeze tonight, a welcome change from the muggy day. The humidity being cut through is a sign the seasons are about to change.

It seems the whole world will shift soon.

Tomorrow, the Cataracts. It seems everyone had the same idea of attempting to distract themselves to sleep, though as expected, the execution varies. Vaan dove straight into Rikken's invitation to see the 'real' side of town, and while Penelo tagged along, it didn't seem like how she wanted to spend the night. Maybe she has hopes of turning in early.

After a brief dialogue following the break of the last meeting, Fran left Balthier at the manse for the aerodome. Machinery has always been calming to her; the self-imposed progress, everything with a place and everything in it. The hard ratchet of a wrench being turned around a bolt, and the sharp sparking while welding, underlain by humming standby engines have replaced the Song of the Wood as her lullaby.

Basch stayed with Reddas. The plan's been gone over and gone over again, to the point where the ink on the map has faded under their hands. Still, plans tend to not survive contact with the enemy. Perhaps pretending to imagine all possible scenarios is a comfort to a former knight captain.

Which explains how Balthier found Ashe on her own.

He's not clear what she's doing laying out on a beach near to midnight, though.

It'd been total chance he'd found her at all. Deciding that he was probably going to need some liquid courage to face whatever stress nightmares he's going to have tonight, Balthier had made his way down the criss-crossing boardwalks towards the Whitecap. It's a good thing he hadn't stopped off at the _Strahl_ first to see if Fran would join him; he'd have missed Ashe entirely coming in from the areodome.

Curiosity could be a sin for all the trouble it gets people into, and Balthier is more victim to it than most. Original plan abandoned, he steps onto the white beach from the Whitecap's patio. She doesn't _look_ hurt, but Balthier doubts Basch has written any plans taking into account the heir apparent getting lain out before they've even left.

She's not asleep, either. She tilts her head back to watch him approach. It's a bit dark, this close to the water. The Whitecap's glow crystals _are_ bright, but their light hardly reaches the shoreline. The moon is of no help, only a quarter-full. A shock of pink is hard to miss, though, in the white sand, and Balthier's gait is is unmistakable, even as a silhouette.

"And here I thought Reddas provided rooms." Ashe has already resettled herself, her hands sifting slowly through the sand at her sides. "If you're so homesick for the desert, should I help you to build a sand castle?"

She clicks her tongue at him, and he chuckles. Still, she doesn't dismiss him, and instead lifts her hands to her stomach.

He takes her silent invitation to join him.

" _Are_ you alright, though?" he asks casually, leaning back on his arms. "This…" and he gestures lazily to their placement, "...is a tad unusual for any of our rag-tag group."

"I wanted to be out here."

"Really."

A pause. "Perhaps I wanted to be at the Whitecap first."

"Hah. And were you?"

"For what I paid the barkeep, anyone asked should say 'no.'"

Unexpected, but not unsurprising. Born to a world of glitter and jewels, Ashe _has_ been living a soldier's life the last few years. The girl's probably seen some self-medication. Truth be told, Balthier _has_ wondered what proof percentage would help the exceptionally tense princess relax for a bit. Whatever the answer, she found it on her on her lonesome, if she's willing to come out here on her own and lay on the ground.

For someone so freakishly rigid, Ashe is rather adaptable. There is no middle ground for Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca, only stark absolutes. All her defining points seem to clash, but compliment instead of contradict. Steadfast course-correction; firm compassion; wide tunnel vision; even-tempered tantrums; sharp, round, darkened, bright eyes.

Sugar and ice.

Ashe has certainly been something to watch. He'd been ready to write her off initially as an idealist hardass, and then again as a romanticizing avenger. Good thing he caught himself both times, though. What a grand disservice either would have been to her _—_ and him! His pride would have stung quite a bit if he'd been wrong about her along. People reading is important in this business.

She tried to steal his ship, the little despot.

The despot drags her hands up to her face, scrubbing at her eyes. "I _had_ hoped to settle my... anything. Hands, nerves, all of it."

"Great minds," he says, revealing his own intentions. "Did it work?"

Muffled from behind her hands, "No."

He laughs. "I didn't have high expectations, myself." Going straight to bed simply wasn't an option, and sitting still in and of itself tends to be more stressful. He'd have gone mad twiddling his thumbs until departure.

"Escort you back, Princess?" Walking an at least slightly drunken princess back to the manse will take a while, and filling time is all he's really looking to do right now, and _—_

"I'll stay here, I think."

"Beg your pardon?"

Maybe 'slightly drunken' was a lowball estimation. "Do we need to get you something absorbent, Highness? Slice of bread?"

"How dare," though the glare she shoots him is halfhearted at best. "I will stay as a choice, not as a result, _thank you_."

"To what end?" He's teasing, of course, but he's not inclined to leave her alone here. Balfonheim certainly isn't the festering and diseased gaping wound it had been when Balthier first anchored at it, to Reddas' credit. But he's a pirate lord, not a miracle worker, and the reality is, he and Fran's 'co-workers' are an undesirable bunch.

Capable as she is, even Ashe could fall victim to any number of especially sordid things. So could Balthier, for that matter.

"We could… talk."

" _Talk_."

The word is thick with the smile on his face, and Balthier continues to watch the waves role in slowly. The water is practically black from where they're laying, but the wave crests are still white in the weak moonlight.

She's a bit gone, isn't she?

"I'd rather something else."

Maybe more than a 'bit.'

The question _could_ be innocent, but it doesn't _sound_ innocent, and that's what snaps him around to look at her again. Ashe is looking at her nails with great interest. Once she's sure he's staring, she lets her head roll to the side to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he's not… entirely sure what to make of her expression. Even in the dark, the alcohol has kept her cheeks red, but her eyes don't seem unfocused or cloudy. Balthier does notice the skin around then is relaxed, though. There's no emotion around her mouth, beyond parted lips which could mean anything.

"Enjoying yourself, are you?" Ugh, he's off-balance.

She shrugs, and damn her for not giving him more to work with in terms of body language. Feeding the contradiction machine that describes her, Ashe is both emotional with a strong game face, as well as keeping still while playing with her wedding band.

"Enjoying this," whatever that means. "To be honest, I like when my heart races. For my body and mind to both react, instead of only one or the other. I don't usually get to feel it outside of danger."

Before Balthier can even _decide_ what to say to that, she adds, "Unless I'm with you."

And _now_ he is gobsmacked.

Anyone with eyes can see that Balthier gets under her skin, but that's because he's trying to be. The motivations vary, but whether it was asking for her dead husband's wedding ring or questioning her intent regarding nethecite, all of that had been calculated needling. He'd pressed her buttons, at times painfully. It'd been for good reasons, he swears, but Balthier has always known when he's doing it.

Or so he thought.

On the surface, their merry men seem to all work under Ashe in varying degrees: Basch, as is his charge; Vaan and Penelo, rallied to free their country; and he and Fran signed on for treasure, then a lowered bounty, and then more treasure, and now finally because it's the right thing to do.

Specifically, Fran prefers Ivalice inhabitable.

Balthier would have Doctor Cid in the family crypt sooner rather than later.

Admittedly, one of those might be less 'right' than the other, but the results are the same.

Follow the Lady Ashe to the Ridorana Cataracts.

Of course, any one of them has more nuanced incitement. Not that it would carry him to the edge of the sea to give a group of premadonna gods a stern talking to and break their things, but Balthier would be a bad liar (and he is a good one, you know) if he claimed he hadn't an… interest in the princess. Obviously, that came into play later in this adventure; she'd come across as a royal wet blanket initially, and no combination of silver blonde hair, grey eyes and pink miniskirt could overlook that.

This ludicrous pilgrimage gave him a mighty different perspective on many things. Chief among them being that watching the world from the _Strahl_ , no matter where she's anchored, still only provides a secluded vantage point. The view he's enjoyed the most, though, is having a look at Ashe.

 _Ashe_. Not Princess Ashelia, but he real person underneath the crown no one will shut up about (including her!). She's proven to be the real dark horse in this war, and not just because she was supposed to have died. It's been a bit of a marvel to watch, and they've had the best seats in the house. A woman who can both admit to being terrified and yet still refuses to be intimidated. Ashe is all over the place, spread thin and broken, yet still entirely put together and whole.

It's messed him up a little bit, to be honest. He might get boastful about being the 'leading man,' but this is very much _her_ story. The moment that defined the rest of them past already; when Basch swore allegiance to the late King Raminas, when Fran walked away from the Wood, and when he, Vaan and Penelo fled lives they could no longer bear.

Each and every one of them ran away from their problems, heartbreak, despair.

Ashe is sprinting full-tilt towards her's.

Her success or failure at the Cataracts and against Vayne are going to change history. If she dies and how that happens matter just as much if she lives and what she does with that life. Everything is riding on her, and no matter her failure or success, nothing will be the same. 'Daunting' doesn't begin to describe such an incomprehensible situation. Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca is the Occurian Chosen, the sword of the gods, catalyst to the heralding of a new age.

And she'll have them sod off.

 _Hah_.

Joke's just as much on him, though, as it's his bloody airship that is taking them across jagd for her to do it. To stop Cid's sick science in its tracks, but also to see Ashe succeed. Win. _Live_. The girl's been through enough, frankly, she doesn't need to be cosmically ground to paste on top of everything else. It's about all he can offer.

And _that_ is the rub. If he were in her shoes, he isn't sure he could rise to the challenge. Offer his services, sure, but Balthier's by no means obligated to be here. If he can't take it anymore, there isn't anything stopping him from leaving, Ivalice be damned.

Ashe's moral fiber is practically self-destructive, and this trip has shown it's strong enough to keep her standing when naught all else can. She's an infuriating and dulcet inspiration. She's better than the rest of them, which has its own drawbacks.

Stars that burn twice as bright live half as long, and all that.

Instead of opening his mouth and risk saying something stupid, Balthier keeps his trap shut. He hopes his expression lands somewhere between amused and suspicious. Being in control isn't so much a pride thing (though pride is definitely a part of it) as it is comfort thing. He feels better when he has some kind of standing.

Whether Ashe sees what she wants or not, she pushes herself up with a sigh. "Nothing?" she asks, casually shaking sand from her hair. Is that disappointment he detects? He raises both of his eyebrows.

"Looking to get a rise out of me, Princess? Bold strategy, and while that will certainly shock your court, I don't know if it makes you much of a politician."

Still patting at her hair, "I am _much_ a politician. I convinced you and Fran to join us."

"Waving around treasure a debate does not make. You bought us."

"With empty promises!"

His chuckle is dry at her chiming in. She could stand to sound less pleased with herself. "Ah, yes, how helpful of you to remind me. _Empty promises_." He can't imagine bringing it up seriously, but, "I believe I'll be annoyed over Raithwall's Tomb for the rest of my life." With a tilt of his head, "Which might only be until tomorrow."

"You say that, yet you won't even think to kiss me?"

Perhaps they've already gone to the Cataracts. They've already gone, but the sky stone didn't work and they crashed in jagd. Or they crashed into the lighthouse. Or they landed just fine but Cid flung him off into the rocks at the base of the island.

Or it's still the night before, and he's completely tanked at the Whitecap.

He's having some weird fever dream.

A hallucination.

"We really should get you back." How he sounds so normal right now impresses even himself. "We won't get far if you're much like this in the morning."

"We won't get _anywhere_ right now," she says. There's a slight lit to her speech, and rosy cheeks have darkened to an embarrassed blush. "We're not done talking." _Agh_. Better to not think too hard on it. Things are complicated enough _—_ oh, and now she goes and makes it _worse_.

Ashe has turned herself to face him, sitting with her legs tucked to her side. He's still reclined back, and if he sits up or rolls to his side, they are going to be _very_ close. She's staring just past his head, a familiar irritated glare on the rise. When she thinks no one is watching, she'll puff her cheeks slightly, and she does it now. It takes years off her, a young action he wouldn't expect from her. Certainly not right now.

"Princess," he starts slowly, willing the light feeling in his chest to wind down. "Are you trying to _proposition_ me?"

He's teasing her, feigning incredulous. He's still wary of the answer. Pushing Ashe to the point of action was one of the only ways he could really tell her intentions in the beginning. Balthier had dialed it back, though, when he realized he was getting too comfortable with it. An 'accidental' brushing in a cramped hall in the Strahl or standing close together in a busy shop had sent her bristling at first. That had been fun.

It eventually tapered off. Ashe would no longer press herself against walls to let him pass, and being practically held against him in the cramped Highgarden elevator caused nary a blink. Back at the Phon's hunter's camp, he went and told her everything. Which he still doesn't regret; he stands by believing she needed to hear that story (even it turns out Cid's madness was from Venat and not nethecite).

Still, " _then, of course, I met you_ ," was too much information. The equivalent of 'worth it'. It hadn't even occurred to him until he said it. The moment he realized he cares about this. All of this. And he's not just impressed with her anymore, either.

So, he hit the breaks. The last thing any of them can afford right now is something stupid. Balthier couldn't even say _what_ about this is foolish, that's how much he's refusing to entertain whatever those thoughts are…

...Except he's _this close_ to throwing all that out the window since that utter and absolute _fop_ Al-Cid Margrace started laying down some groundwork to relocate to Ashe's side. And to avert war and save millions. Fine. Good for him. Where does any of that necessitate invitations to family pavilions and kissing her hand at every given opportunity?

That ditzy dandy and Ashe's lack of rejection to his antics has tripped Balthier up more than he'd ever admit, and _far more_ than he wants anyone to notice. Fran's observations can't be helped, she's too good with him to be oblivious to any changes in his behavior. She gets a pass. Despite the flare of embarrassment he feels when he finds Fran raising a brow knowingly.

Balthier has always sought what he couldn't have _—_ or more specifically, what he _shouldn't_ have. There isn't a lot he can't get his hands on when the law is pointedly ignored. Over the years, that habit hasn't always been limited to inanimate objects. Success in those endeavors varies, but it's _always_ been a passing fancy. Whether his… conquests were made just to see if he could or because he had a true attraction, once they were acted on, whatever that mighty need was is gone, out of his system.

Ashe is somehow all of it, creating something new altogether.

She's the most wholly unattainable person he'll probably ever come across. What had originated as a funny thought sobered up when Al-Cid hit the mix. Now it's _Balthier_ who holds his breath when she's forced close against him in crowded streets; it's _Balthier_ whose skin thrills should their hands touch.

She _is_ obtainable. Ashelia will have a _husband_ at her side when she rules. There will be heirs, and that takes two. She's just as much of a woman as any hume girl he's ever met, and someone is going to be touching her as one. Whether it's an audacious lord like Al-Cid or anyone else, whoever the qualified but undeserving man is _—_

 _—_ he's not Balthier.

Obtainable.

Just not by _him_.

So, here they're sitting, in the sand on a beach, in the dark of a quarter-moon. Just the two of them, and _—_ tipsy as she may be _—_ she asks him to kiss her.

She's doesn't double-down on her statement, but she's not trying to explain it away, either. "I would expect that indulgence to be akin to playing with fire."

Ashe is right, of course.

Though, when the paper went to flame, Balthier didn't expect to be the one burning.

If Fran ever hears of any of this, she's going to tell him it's laser-guided karma for going out of his way to ruffle the princesses' feathers all this time. She'll tell him it serves him right, finally being on the receiving end of such heated teasing. Playing with fire indeed.

"I think, perchance, we do that enough as is," he says. "All that dirt kicking we do at Empires and gods and what have you."

Ashe sits up then, shifting her legs to her other side before resettling. Her knees are now nearly at his back, her thighs barely against the arm he's propping himself up with. It would take naught but gravity and a head tilt to bring her lips down to his.

"Does heresy have limits?"

This wouldn't be a phase.

"What's another flame in an inferno?"

 _Hell_.

He can't do anything with this. Words are air, invisible. They're neither here nor there, and are as fake as they are real. It's all playing pretend. Make believe. Such childish descriptions certainly work here, for how much Balthier feels like a lad back at the Akademy right now.

As soon as things get physical, though, they're not figments anymore. Passing a message too close to her ear is something else from a sigh before a kiss. It will make… make… _whatever_ any of this is real. If it's real, he's going to have to deal with it.

As she steadies herself with her hands in the sand _between_ them, Balthier knows he won't be able to.

He won't be able to deal with this.

His pulse jumping in his throat when she looks back to him is proof enough.

"Now, Princess," he begins to caution. The back of his mouth is beginning to dry, but his voice is still smooth and amused. "Best not to do anything you'll regret if we're _not_ all devoured by gods tomorrow."

Ashe blinks. "I don't say this _because_ we might die," she frowns. It's not deep enough to be sad, nor tight enough for her trademark scowl. "I'm saying this because we might _live_. Hesitation doesn't serve me."

"It would seem _time_ is still what makes you brave." Though her intent isn't entirely clear to him, Balthier can say that with confidence. "You've survived a lot of hell on sheer bravado and stubbornness, Ashe, and while I'm not saying that hasn't served you well," he adds quickly as she takes a breath to defend herself. "I won't be party to personal endeavors simply because you've dared yourself."

Her words have an edge, still miffed about his comment on her 'motivation'. "What time is, Balthier, is _heavy-handed_. Should I be queen..." and her voice softens. She looks out to the black sea with a longing that matches her tone.

"I will never be right here, ever again. I won't have the luxury of going anywhere alone. A queen has business in so few places, along the seashore of a pirate town is hardly one of them. I make to break free of the cage the Occuria are building for me, as I make for the one I came from. I trade shackles, that is all."

There is that, isn't there? Say victory is theirs. They survive their encounter at the Cataracts and trounce Vayne. Then what? Balthier and Fran get back to business, Vaan and Penelo _start_ that business, but Ashe and Basch?

Back to work, he supposes. _If_ the good captain can have his name cleared. The princess becomes queen, and begins her reign of salvage. Dalmasca is utterly shredded, and it'll probably take at least Ashe's lifetime to get the kingdom back on her feet. Considering the sad state of things, she'll be forced into the best marriage available to her probably as fast as she can arrange it. Wasn't she married into House Heios? Off to Nabradia were she would rarely, if ever, have been asked to make critical decisions. Now she's meant to rule on a throne Balthier imagines is a bit big for her.

Vossler's 'deal' makes more sense by the day.

She never would have taken it, of course, but Balthier thinks she understands where her knight was coming from.

"Fail or rise, what semblance of freedom I have ends soon."

"That's your trouble?" he asks, both eyebrows raised in suspicion. "A kiss now, for none later?"

She looks back at him, embarrassed and amused. "When else would I have a starlit shoreline and a leading man?"

How dare she, she's not allowed to smirk. An unpracticed gesture, he thinks, but it's enough to draw his eyes to her lips. " _The_ leading man, I remind you." And then, against the howl of his better judgment, "Surely there's a reason or two to find a thief in a castle, Princess."

"Offered on a beach, though, it has no value?"

"I didn't say that."

Whatever she had at the Whitecap gave her courage, but it certainly hasn't dulled her mind. He's understanding her motivations better now, but how much _Balthier_ himself plays into the rebellious princess' last rebellion isn't immediately clear. If he continues his trend of avoiding what he can't hope to control, will Ashe dust her hands of sand _and_ him? Off to find someone willing to break who knows how many laws with her?

Her and some useless pirate further down the beach, in the water, anywhere she shouldn't be and soon won't have the option to be. That's probably some of a stretch _—_ after all, she only asked for a kiss, not a romp _—_ but his fists are clenched in the sand all the same.

"I _am_ an adult you know." She can see enough of his expression to know that's going to need an explanation. "I _know_ that adults can do… adult things _—_ " He snorts. " _—_ and it doesn't have to mean much."

"I'm familiar with the concept."

"No doubt."

It's not fair. All this time, and she's been hiding this side of herself. Ashe is obviously quick witted, but her teasing always seemed to be saved for her Dalmascan subjects. Balthier got little of her light-hearted banter, beyond the occasional less scathing sarcasm. He watched with growing envy as _Vaan_ of all people got to see the most of her hidden personality.

He likes what he sees. A lot. Too much. There are so many butterflies in his stomach, it's forcing his heart up into his throat.

"Then, in regards to that concept, surely you're aware of how often things don't play out like that, hm?" Keeping his head at this angle is getting to his neck, so Balthier chances lifting himself. Ashe leans back to give him room, and he's equally glad and disappointed.

"Even the most adept at casual encounters wind up with moments they don't want to end." Speaking of, Balthier can't tell if he wants the sun to hurry up and rise, or stay gone forever. This entire situation is spinning both alarm and desire around his head, leaving him dizzy.

"I'm a widow, orphan, and only child in a single swing of the Empire's sword, Balthier." Somber sentence for her to nearly laugh through. "I rather cared for them _all_. I have _much_ practice turning moments to memories, whether I want it or not."

As her conviction grows, his is slowly deflating. His waning resolve leads to an unsure sounding, "This could be different."

"You're not a husband mine, so perhaps." _Not even in a perfect world_ , some traitorous part of his mind laments. If the world allowed only anything good to prevail, likely he and Ashe never would have met. "I do want this memory, though."

He tells himself to shut up, and works to keep the unwanted disappointment out of his voice. "Over before it began, then."

"Were your hopes higher?"

She's trying to get revenge. She has to be. There's no other explanation for her to tease him with such a question. Or for her to be leaning forward as she does it, her head tilted just far enough to back let the weak moonlight hit that cheeky smile. Ashe's cheeks are still red, she's still nervous or embarrassed or whatever else is colouring her face beyond the alcohol.

Balthier is as master of avoidance. Be it debt collectors or Cid, Balthier is rarely anywhere, with anyone, he can't stand to be near. Should he decide he's going to be scarce, there's typically little to get in the way of that. Where Ashe's bravado has carried her to many victories, his ability to vanish has been his own saving grace. It works quite a bit of the time.

The downside of never dealing with anything, though, is when he has to, it can be a struggle. Settling fights or sending bounty hunters packing is one thing, as well as talking his way out of tense situations is being another. Instances like _this_ have him at a disadvantage.

It would be better for him to get up now. Go ask Fran to walk her back, just get whatever distance he can. Running, flying, getting away from anywhere isn't just fun, it's _safe_. Ashe lightly touching his vest, tracing the swirling patterns absently feels very, very dangerous. The longer he lets this go on, the more trouble there's going to be.

Danger and trouble in pursuit of treasure is plenty good, but when all it's going to yield his heartbreak, he can _—_ well, he can do without heartbreak, but is _that_ what's on the line here?

"All we are, are memories," she says, apparently uninterested in an answer to her question. Bless. It's not like he had one. "Is that why you're such an enigma?" she asks, her smile dreamy but her eyes still sharp. "You refuse to have a past?"

"A joke? Be still my heart."

No, really. His heart needs to _mind its own business_. A kiss _—_ not even a kiss! The _idea_ of one! _—_ should not be such an unraveling force for anybody. At its core, he supposes, it's not the action itself that's messing with him.

It's that he has no idea what this would _do_. It could do nothing; it could be fun; it could be one of the worst kisses he's ever shared with a woman. A kiss could reveal that the tension that's been mounting since, what? Bhujerba? This energy that's become so charged that at least Fran, and maybe Basch, have noticed, could be nothing but an adrenaline outlet. That under any other circumstances, there'd be hardly more than a lingering look at a stranger across a room.

They snog on the beach, and tomorrow it's back to the grind. Balthier will be the only one to see the marks he left on her neck, and her cheeks will flush slowly when she feels him staring at them with a pleased grin. Ashe will be annoyed and he'll be amused, and no one gets to know why. Just more fun, a bit at her expense, but that's the status quo. No harm, no foul.

The concern comes from _what if it's not nothing_? Balthier's impressively worldly for all of twenty-two years, but that's still pretty young. He's amassed a swell of life experiences in less than a quarter of a century; hell, he's done more in this year alone than most people will do before they die at a reasonably old age.

On the other hand, there are a handful of huge milestones he hasn't bothered with, that loads of people his age have reached: marriage isn't entirely off the table for him, but it's teetering on the edge; woe as the day would be if he learned otherwise, he doesn't _think_ he's left any passing fancies with a child, and; falling in love has… Falling in love has been…

He's only fled the Judges and Cid six years ago. Barely more than half a decade, and he's spent nearly all of it establishing his new identity. He didn't have to do much in personality, transitioning from Ffamran to Balthier. Becoming a professional liar somehow made him more honest, or at least more comfortable in his skin. Then came Fran. When she stuck around, he knew he was the person he needed to be.

Balthier scraped, and sculpted, and through great effort made himself whom he is now. He isn't one of Doctor Cid's sons, nor a Judge serving the Empire. He is his _own_ , belonging only to himself. He hasn't been overly keen on the idea of sharing that with anyone.

Especially the parts that might still be under construction. That's certainly one of his favourite things about Fran; she doesn't ask. In the big picture, even their partnership is temporary. He isn't her first hume companion, and he won't be her last (assuming they all don't die tomorrow). Knowing that, that even if it's long term on only his end, that it is just yet another thing to be left behind eventually, brings him a greater comfort than he can describe.

She asks nothing he isn't willing to give, and fifty-percent of the profits. It is both indescribably profound and still entirely uncomplicated.

All Fran really wants for him, on a personal level, is to be as true to himself as often as he can. That might take a few turns, when that 'self' is still getting worked out, but she's reasonable like that. He'd be lost without her at this stage.

Case in point, she had warned Balthier against his interactions with Ashe.

He can't tell if he should have listened or not.

"Well?"

Balthier doesn't know what love looks like. He can hazard a guess, based on his success in charming women. Those girls tend to know the score, though, and he doesn't know if any of them ever dropped their hearts somewhere in the sheets. And isn't it supposed to be different for everyone?

"Balthier?"

So, what is he afraid of?

" _Balthier_."

That maybe he _does_ know what it looks like.

"It wasn't that good of a joke."

And he's staring at it.

"It's that you made one at all, I find stunning, your highness."

Ashe scowls at him, but for once, there's no real negativity behind. Hard to say in this light, but it looks to him like a face she often makes at Vaan.

" _Anyway_ ," she chuffs, though right after, what he can make out of her expression softens to something nearly shy. "So?"

His mind is made up.

"So! Flattered and enticed, I am."

The shine in her eyes grows as she looks up at him in a thrilled surprise.

"However, it is rather past your bedtime."

She blinks.

Damn it all.

Damn _him_.

"At this rate, I dare say we won't be able to tell who the real scoundrel is."

Fool of a pirate, indeed.

Well said, Cid.

His tone is as devil-may-care as ever, but Balthier is looking straight over her head. He can't do this. He can't risk opening a door to something as monumental as this potentially is. Not when neither of them could ever walk through it. Ashe seems perfectly content to kiss him in the doorway before returning to her side, leaving him to struggle with closing it again, if he even can.

He can't know a woman he has legitimate feelings for is going to suffer a loveless marriage. Going to share her bed with an undeserving husband, as many times as it takes to produce heirs that will secure Dalmsca's future. He can't know she's inaccessible to his wants, and their time entirely bent to the ink on her ever demanding schedule. Balthier can't know she'll be the one leaving in the morning, if she stays the night at all.

That all their kisses are hers to steal.

So, instead, he'll do what he's always done: _run_. Not literally, not yet. He doesn't trust his legs. But he's leaving the key to that door where she set it. He won't take it. Maybe tomorrow morning and every day after, he'll think he should have just kissed the damn princess. In fact, Balthier's already certain this is getting its own podium in his lifetime of regrets.

But regret it he shall.

It's better this way.

For him.

She hasn't said anything. He finds only the top of her lowered head when he finally forces himself to look at her. She might have felt him do that, as the hand that had been tracing patterns on his vest now presses itself against his chest.

She takes a long breath through her nose and exhales. He swallows.

Lifting her head to look at him, he finds her eyes dry, and suddenly so is his throat. That's certainly the most flirtatious look she's had tonight.

"Your mouth is telling one story." He can feel his eyes widen a touch, her hand applying more force against his chest, right over his _—_ "But your heart is telling another."

Oh.

She can feel his ridiculous heartbeat.

"You admitted a few reasons of your own, you know, for why a heart would do that."

Don't make this any harder on him, please. The princess has shown little interest in easing herself into anyone's lives, and asks a _lot_ of those around her. She must not be aware of the gravity of her presence; she's too compassionate to let someone writhe on her behalf... supposedly.

"I did," and he doesn't like that she agrees. All of her weight is being split between the lone arm still in the sand and the other on his chest, and that brings her closer. Balthier warily finds his eyes on her lips more than any other part of her face. "When we're alone, which we are," she says, and he knows she's watching him watch her talk. "And when I'm in danger. Are you in danger, Balthier?"

Has he closed his eyes, or did the moon decide to give them some privacy?

"Or can you not tell the difference?"

The last syllable barely exists, and maybe it doesn't. It's lost to a near inaudible sigh, he isn't sure from who. He wants to throw Rasler's ring in the ocean, and keep her out of Al-Cid's arms.

He wants this. _He wants her_.

He wants this as much as he fears it.

Ashe's bottom lip barely touches his when Balthier suddenly jerks himself back. Because she'd been leaning against him, they both fall into the sand with undignified 'oof's.

There's a beat of stunned silence, as if even the waves along the shore paused. Then, the slight sound of sliding fabric as Ashe lifts herself off him.

He can hear her heave a polite but heavy sigh above him and to the side, and only then does he look. Lacing his fingers, he rests his hands behind his head as she absently fixes the part in her hair.

Ashe asked him for little, really. A shared moment with someone of her choosing, maybe her last freewill entanglement. She likes her sure bets; likely she felt confident that of anyone here, he'd be the most willing and unattached option, banking on his seemingly cavalier attitude towards her. More aware than anyone else what success will actually mean for her, she sought out only a meager level of intimacy.

But this kiss is too much? No, not even that! The kiss could _potentially_ be too much! A perceived, unconfirmed threat holds him back. Perhaps his 'new' life is still too new, perhaps he's not as confident in himself as he seems, if _risk_ of heartbreak would be his undoing.

" _All that running and I got nowhere."_

He's still nowhere.

"I suppose danger, then," Ashe mutters to herself. He winces, facing the sky again. Though his eyes are right back on her when she carefully stands.

She dusts her hands to her side to keep any sand from falling on him. "You would need your rest to pilot us, right?" _And_ she's not even going to call him out? The nearly flirtatious expression from before is gone, replaced with something more resigned and probably self-deprecating, knowing how hard she is on herself.

 _This isn't your fault_ , he wants to say. _You didn't do anything wrong.  
_  
Instead, because it's easier, he lies, "New sky stone and all, could be quite the flight."

"Of course."

Will no one hold him accountable for himself? Because he certainly isn't going to do it on his own.

"Then get that rest," she says. "Tomorrow is the lighthouse."

"Surely it's past midnight now."

She's too far away to make out her face now, but it sounds like that got a smile out of her. "Surely. Be safe heading back."

Wait.

"Pardon?" he sits up then as begins walking. "I'm sure the two of us will be _—_ "

She turns towards him but keeps moving away from him, walking backwards, gesturing widely with her arm; the metal is highlighted by moonlight. "Yes, but I'm not making for the manse just yet."

"Ashe…" and he doesn't know what he wants to say, but her name comes out in a mixture of warning and apology.

She's raises her voice to be heard as she heads for the stairs to the Whitecap's patio, "We found who the real scoundrel is."

Of course, she's talking about herself and what she wants from this last night.

Balthier, deciding that chasing after her would only lead to greater disappointment for them both, practically flops back into the sand. Crossing his arms over his eyes, he lets out _quite_ the groan of frustration.

The waves nearly sound like snickering.

#

He spends the night on the _Strahl_.

It's only a few hours of sleep, but at least he gets some. If he'd returned to the manse, Balthier would have spent the entire night listening for Ashe to come back.

Good thing he doesn't.

The sky is turning blue before she closes the door behind her.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I'm glad SE rereleased this heckin' good game. I'm hopelessly in love with it, and this complicated ship. Sigh. Balthier's jealousy over Ashe visiting the Ambervale in Revenant Wings was balm for my soul. Shine on, all that is hopeless. I think one of the more attractive things about Balthier/Ashe is that both of them are very aware that's not going anywhere. At least one of them would have to make a serious compromise to who they are to even hope to _qualify_ for a legitimate relationship, which would completely undermine the idea of who the other fell for to begin with. Neither of them are idiots, so they're not even going to try. **

**Can't help that heart rate increase when the other is near, though.**

 **The weather was lovely today. I hope you have a good week!**


End file.
